


Twice Over

by Lomonaaeren



Series: July Celebration Fics 2018 [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Auror Harry Potter, Dark Draco Malfoy, Dark Lords, Depression, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-02
Updated: 2018-07-03
Packaged: 2019-06-01 02:47:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,626
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15133415
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lomonaaeren/pseuds/Lomonaaeren
Summary: A second prophecy has been found, focusing on Harry Potter, that says he will cause the fall of a second Dark Lord. Harry, on the verge of retiring from the Aurors due to moral exhaustion, agrees to go on one last mission: infiltrating rising Dark Lord Draco Malfoy’s organization.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is the first of the July Celebration Fics I’m posting between the first and the thirty-first to celebrate Harry’s birthday this year. It has a second part that will be posted tomorrow.

“ _Harry Potter will cause the new Dark Lord to fall._ ”

Harry blinked as he watched the misty figure, of a male Seer in transparent silver robes, retreat into the prophecy orb. Then he glanced up at Gawain Robards. “And that’s the whole prophecy? It seems almost—simple.”

“I know.” Robards had a grim face and a grim smile and a grim way of folding his hands on his desk. “But yes, that’s the whole thing. The Seer, Kevin Erasmus, gave the prophecy this morning, in front of I can’t tell you how many witnesses in the Department of Mysteries. The prophecy orb was safeguarded at once, so you could hear it, but many others know.”

Harry nodded slowly. “You know I’m about to retire.”

“I do. And I understand why. The paperwork and the crimes are repetitive, and they never stop. But this is an unusual mission, and one that we need you for, Harry. Even if there wasn’t the prophecy, I would have been thinking about sending you. If nothing else, you knew the target.”

Harry sighed. That much was true enough. And he had known enough about Draco Malfoy to think he was a reformed man, that he would never become a Dark Lord when he knew what it cost. Still, how could he leave the wizarding world to suffer if he _was_ the only one who could fulfill the prophecy?

“What will be my excuse for joining his organization?”

“The same exhaustion that you’ve announced in the papers as a reason for your retirement. I think it shouldn’t take much effort to portray yourself as cynical and fed up with the wizarding world…”

 _No effort at all,_ Harry thought, but he bent over Robards’s plans and nodded along with them. However long this took, it was his final mission. Then he could go away and try to regrow what felt like a spirit that had been chopped short every time it tried to lift its head.

_Forget the poetic metaphors and focus on work, Harry._

*

“Harry Potter.”

Harry stood quietly with his hands in the air, well away from his body. To his surprise, Malfoy’s guards had taken away his wand and other weapons, but had then brought him straight to their Lord. Harry had anticipated spending at least a few days in holding cells or with interrogators first.

“Lord Malfoy.” Harry didn’t think he could help the grimace that slipped across his face, but then, that would probably help with his disguise.

Malfoy laughed. “You don’t have to call me by my title yet. Not until you mean it.” He slid off the black, throne-like chair he sat in and strolled casually towards Harry. Other than the chair, nothing in the room was dark the way Harry had expected it would be after seeing Voldemort’s preferred décor. The walls were made of pale wood with threads of gold running through it, and the floor was white marble in the same pattern. Large windows let in glimpses of green and gold from the trees and sunshine outside. Malfoy’s “secret hideout,” which hadn’t been that hard to find, seemed to be under a Perpetual Sunny Day charm. Harry thought the only reason the Aurors hadn’t attacked was that Malfoy had werewolves and vampires with him, not to mention rumors of powerful ritual magic.

“Let me get a look at you,” Malfoy murmured, and reached out to take hold of Harry’s chin. Harry did his best to stand still.

Malfoy himself looked colder and more sophisticated than he had in school, but otherwise not that different. Only a little taller, his hair shone as it hung to his shoulders in a long braid. He wore white robes with golden embroidery, slightly open in the front to show off a pale shirt. Harry noticed new flecks of blue and gold in his eyes, but then, he had never looked into them for this long before.

Malfoy nodded and released his chin. “One of my permanent magical modifications is to sense hostility to me and my cause. You don’t reek of it, Harry Potter.” Harry blinked. “But you still haven’t told me _why_ you’ve come to join me.”

Harry glanced aside a little. “Because—nothing changes,” he said, and he was speaking the pure truth. Exhaustion welled up out of him and turned into words. “I arrest Dark wizards, and more pop up. A lot of them are their family members who want revenge. People get out of Azkaban and go right back to crime. Someone baits Muggles and gets a scolding and a slap on the wrist, and then the next week they’re doing it again. The Ministry has archaic laws that mean we can only hold onto Dark grimoires and artifacts permanently if we can convince the Department of Mysteries to take them. Otherwise, they have to be released to the hands of their ‘rightful owners.’ And werewolves are being used as experimental beasts for new versions of Wolfsbane without the protections regular wizards get, and there’s that _stupid_ new law that says you can only sell house-elves directly to someone else, not free them. Supposedly because freed house-elves are so unhappy. I’m sick and tired of this _shit_.”

He looked back at Malfoy, and again spoke the truth. “I’ve heard some rumors that your changes are actually different, not just putting pure-bloods in power and persecuting Muggles like Voldemort wanted. I don’t know if I believe that yet. But I wanted to come and find out the truth for myself.”

Malfoy studied him intently for a moment. Then he said, “I won’t preach to you, Potter. If you want to learn what I’m like, stay around me for a time and see what I _do_.”

“That’s exactly what I’m planning on.”

Malfoy smiled like a devil in the sun, and turned to walk towards the far side of his throne room, beckoning Harry after him.

 _This could be going worse,_ Harry decided, and followed.

*

“This is the main reason that those experimental trials the Ministry wants to conduct on werewolves are so much bollocks.”

Harry wanted to answer that the _main_ reason should surely be that werewolves were people, too, with people’s rights. But he couldn’t make his throat move as he stared down at the courtyard in front of him.

Two floors below the balcony he stood on, wolves played on a long sweep of sweet-smelling grass, in between high hedges of hawthorn and roses. _Wolves_ , not the mockery of them that Remus had become when he transformed. Their fur shone silver and black and white and fawn. Harry even saw one wolf who looked golden tip over a young cub and then tug on the young one’s tail, eyes alight with fun.

“You taught them to transform on their own.”

“I taught them to harness their lycanthropy as if it were the same inner force that makes someone an Animagus. Becoming an Animagus is dangerous; you can get trapped in your animal form or caught between forms or lose your mind. Well, the same thing can happen to a werewolf. But it doesn’t have to. Honestly, most of the reason for their savagery is because all of us were taught from birth to _believe_ they were savage. Of course terrified people, who believe with all their hearts that they’re about to become wild human-killing monsters, do become that.”

Harry watched as one white wolf sprawled in the sunlight, rolling on his back, waving his paws around. He swallowed. “And now they can transform whenever they want. What about the full moon, though?”

“It’s still a powerful trigger on them, but they’ve got other triggers. Most of them transform automatically if they smell raw meat. And we work constantly on those transformations. At first, every time they change, they go wild. But we cage them and work them back into calmness, and sooner or later, that happens with the full moon, too.”

“It—seems so simple. I mean, I don’t want to downplay your achievement, Malfoy. But like someone should have discovered it before.”

“That would be the bollocks part I was talking about, Potter. The Ministry has enough researchers and time and money to have found this. But they didn’t. When have werewolves ever been a priority for them?”

Harry thought of what Remus could have had if someone had only talked to him and helped him, and closed his eyes.

“Potter?”

“Sorry. Just thinking that this came too late for some friends of mine.”

“But not too late for my cousin.”

Harry actually turned around and stared before he remembered that, of course, Teddy and Draco were cousins. He jerked his head down in a nod. “He’s—shown no sign of transforming yet, and he’s twelve. On the other hand, one Healer I talked to said it can sometimes happen at any age.”

“True. Well, if it does, then this sanctuary is open to him.”

Harry looked back down at the courtyard and a group of werewolves, wolves, playing stalk-and-pounce around a clump of trees, and said, “Yeah. I’m glad it is.”

Malfoy let his forearm glance around Harry’s shoulder. Harry shut his eyes. It felt as warm as sunlight.

*

“Uh. All right, then,” Harry said, and averted his eyes from the vampire drinking from the throat of a young witch in front of him. He could feel his ears getting hot.

“You don’t like this solution as well as my werewolf courtyard, Potter?”

“I just didn’t know that vampires could feed from humans and give them pleasure like that.” Harry would have looked around the large space, made of marble and pale wood like Malfoy’s throne room, but his eyes would have only met more scenes like the one in front of him, so he kept his gaze firmly on his feet. He heard the sounds of soft music and splashing fountains and ecstatic gasping anyway.

“Not many did. To be fair, part of that was on vampires themselves. They preferred to drink as quickly as they could and get away. Which meant they often killed their victims, of course.”

“So you didn’t provide training or research for them the way you did for werewolves?”

“No. Only a place to do it in safety and slowly, with willing partners, where it’s not a crime.”

Malfoy led Harry out of the large room and shut the door. Harry blinked at the door, something about the pattern of leaves and palm fronds on it registering with him. “Wait. I know we’re not in your manor. Did you decorate this one sort of like it?”

Malfoy glanced at him, his eyebrows slowly going up again. “Potter, this _is_ Malfoy Manor. Transfigured.”

“You can’t Transfigure—”

“With a pattern of runes drawn in silver on the night of a blue moon, you can. If you make the pattern large enough, and have other magic at your disposal.”

Harry considered it. It didn’t sound possible to him, but then again, he knew nothing about ritual magic. “So you must have moved it as well.”

“Yes. That took more magic, admittedly. And some favors owed to my giant allies.”

“Then what’s the Malfoy Manor that everyone thinks is there?”

“A Transfigured manor house, bound with the same sort of permanence magic, that used to belong to someone who annoyed me.”

Harry paused as he thought about something else. “I bet some of your ancestors would be _furious_ at what uses you’ve put Malfoy Manor to.”

Malfoy’s answering smile was slow and revealed more teeth than Harry thought most people had. “Potter, that’s one reason I did it.”

*

“So tell me what could make the great Harry Potter give up being an Auror when, by most reports, that’s all he ever wanted.”

Harry spent some time letting the delicate roast beef melt on his tongue before he answered. Malfoy did have good cooks, or maybe good house-elves. But that last thought didn’t cause him as much guilt as it usually did. “I’m tired.”

“I would think that we all are.”

“I mean—tired spiritually.” Harry tried to think of words to explain it that didn’t sound stupid, because so much depended on him not sounding stupid. He had to make Malfoy fall somehow. For right now, Malfoy seemed content to sit on the other side of the vast stone table, with the flicker of the candles reflecting in his eyes and hair, and listen.

“I wake up in the morning, and I don’t feel any hope,” Harry said finally. “I accomplish something, and there’s no lift in my heart. People praise me; I can’t even smile. There’s nothing left for me in the Aurors that makes me _happy_. I have to retire.”

“So it’s not so much about the unchanging nature of the job that you mentioned before,” Malfoy murmured. A jewel-colored blue bird with a long tail soared through the window and landed on his shoulder. Harry started, but Malfoy only fed it as if he’d expected its arrival. “It’s about wanting to be happy.”

Harry shrugged. “Yeah. I don’t know what that’s going to look like yet. But I don’t have time to plan for being happy in the Aurors, either. It’s a time-consuming job. When I resign, then I’ll be able to think.”

“Why did you come here, then?”

“To see if there was something here that could make me happy.” The lie sounded natural. “I think you’ve accomplished some amazing things, if what you’ve done for the werewolves and vampires is typical—”

“It is.”

“But it wouldn’t make me happy to join you.”

“Why not?”

Malfoy leaned on his elbow and watched him with a look of such genuine _interest_ that Harry stopped eating. A second later, he said, “Because of the fighting. Obviously you’re going to face opposition from those who don’t want a Dark Lord to take over the wizarding world. I don’t want to be caught in the middle of another war, with no way to stop it.”

Malfoy leaned slowly back. His face was thoughtful now. “You could help stop it. You could persuade some people to step down instead of fighting it.”

“With you calling yourself a _Dark Lord_? I doubt it.”

“I mean it.” Malfoy smiled at him, but there was something different in his eyes now, a glint that Harry thought might have been excitement. “Really, I do. You have no idea how much respect your name still commands. If you told the people who follow your every exploit in the _Daily Prophet_ that you believe I’m a force for good in the wizarding world, they would support me.”

Harry just stared down at his plate. “I don’t think that’s true. They don’t listen to me when I ask them to leave me alone and stop coming up to shake my hand in public. Why would they listen to me about something much more important?”

“Because the important things are also the abstract things, to them.” Malfoy was suddenly close to him, breathing out against his ear, making Harry start and turn to face him. Malfoy smiled and studied him, and yes, that glitter was definitely present now. “They see you and want to touch you. You’re there. You’re real. But another wizarding war? Distant. Impossible. If Harry Potter talks about it, then I’m going to believe him.”

Harry didn’t know how long he sat there, caught in Malfoy’s gaze and the strange, tempting version of the future it opened to him, but it couldn’t have been longer than a few seconds. Then he snorted and shook his head. “Yes, but then I would be responsible for good people dying.”

“How so?”

“Some people would fight anyway. Some of _your_ people would fight. People would die on both sides. No, thank you.”

“It’s not your fault if that happens, Harry. Just like none of the deaths in the war with Voldemort were your fault. If you spoke up and asked people to let me take over, you would be doing all you could to _prevent_ deaths, wouldn’t you?”

Harry stiffened. That struck too close to home. He stood. “Thank you for dinner, Malfoy. I don’t know what you wanted me to do about spending the night…”

Malfoy, smiling a little, stood. “Follow me.”

*

“A bedroom right across the corridor from yours,” Harry said flatly.

“Of course. You are an extremely _honored_ guest.”

Harry turned quickly at the fingers pressing into his shoulder. Malfoy smiled at him, his face seeming to flicker as the candle he held did.

“I’ve been hoping you’d come here for a _long_ time,” Malfoy breathed. “I don’t think you’re fully convinced yet. But that doesn’t have to be a problem. Stay as long as is necessary for me to convince you, Harry.”

He brushed his fingers across Harry’s collarbone, then his chin against Harry’s shoulder, and turned and went through the ornate door across from Harry’s. Harry closed his eyes until he knew he’d regained his mental balance, then entered his own room.

It was absurdly large, a theme that extended to the bed and the wardrobe and the bathroom and the tables on either side of the bed. Harry opened one of the drawers in the nearest table and found quills, ink, and parchment.

He’d intended to write a report for Robards tonight, but honestly, he was too tired. He undressed and fell into bed, not forgetting to cast the charms that would warn him if someone entered the room and conceal his own noise, including any talking he did. He had a terrible habit of talking in his sleep, according to every partner he’d had.


	2. Part Two

“Harry?”

Harry jackknifed his body to the side and snatched up his wand, which Malfoy had let him have back. He was out of the bed and on the far side of it from the voice in seconds, his wand raised and ready.

Then he realized that he was in the luxurious bedroom in Malfoy Manor, with Malfoy standing across the bed from him and staring at him with a complex expression somewhere between astonishment and concern.

Harry flushed all over, more for his reaction than his nakedness. “Sorry,” he said, and reached for the nearest sheet, winding it around himself as casually as he could. “I tend to react like that when somebody wakes me up.”

“And you don’t know my voice, so you reacted to it the way you would to a stranger’s. I understand.” Malfoy gazed at him thoughtfully. “You don’t need to apologize on my account. Or cover up, for that matter.”

 _That_ did deepen Harry’s flush. He cleared his throat. “Is it time to go to breakfast? Or did I make noise that woke you up?”

“I awakened for a report and realized that _no_ noise was coming from your room. I became concerned. Do you have nightmares?”

“Episodes of sleep-talking, more like. They can become loud. And yes, sometimes I do shout because of them. I’m sorry to have worried you.”

“I told you, apologies aren’t necessary.” Malfoy paused. Harry had no idea what he was going to say next, and stood, holding the sheet and feeling more and more ridiculous by the moment. “I don’t want you to feel as though you need to stay under wards or Silencing Charms while you’re here.”

“That’s kind of you, but I really _will_ wake people up if I don’t have those charms. The talking is pretty loud.”

“And if I were to say that I don’t mind?”

“Well, your other guests might still—”

“There’s no one but you and me in this part of the house, Harry.”

Harry caught his breath. Malfoy was illuminated now by the fire in his hearth, not by the candle he’d held earlier, and there were fewer shadows. Fewer ways to mistake the expression on Malfoy’s face.

“Then I’d say I’m flattered,” Harry murmured, “but not that I understand. I was sure you would at least have guards. This is—you’re treating me like I’ve already agreed to join you. But I _haven’t_. I think what you’re doing is impressive. But I haven’t agreed.”

“I know that. But I can’t help wanting you to. And I _do_ want to show you that I trust you.”

“Why? I’m an Auror. I’d still arrest you if I found anything illegal here, you know.”

Malfoy’s smile eased towards amused. “I think that you might think about it. That’s not the same as doing it. And I’ve been hoping you would visit me for years.”

“This is—really strange, Malfoy.” Harry ran his hand through his hair, almost dropping the sheet. “Why? Because you thought I would be impressed by what you’re doing with the vampires and werewolves? Because you thought I would make a good ambassador to convince people not to fight you?”

“The reasons are all intertwined,” Malfoy breathed. “But if you want someone’s loyalty, it does no good to try and intimidate them into it. I learned that from watching Voldemort at work. I want to win your loyalty with promises and truth.”

“Why do you want it?”

“I just told you.”

“No, you didn’t.”

“All the reasons intertwined? The ones that you named, and more. I want you for what you are, but also for what I think you could become.”

Harry just stared, and said nothing. He could see why Malfoy had no problem attracting followers, though, if he went after everyone with as much intensity and flattery as he was using with Harry.

Although, did he _honestly_ stare at everyone with a gaze like warm velvet, a gaze Harry could feel resting on his skin?

“Why did you become a Dark Lord?” Harry asked, deciding to see if this surreal conversation could get around to giving him useful information. It seemed to have given some to Malfoy, if the way he leaned on the wall was any indication.

“Oh, that? I did think you knew. I sent a letter to Granger and the Department of Magical Law Enforcement and many others when I started this. You converted me.”

“What?”

“You convinced me that the wizarding world isn’t good as it stands,” Malfoy said simply. “That it mistreats creatures when it shouldn’t, and restricts the rights of Muggleborns, and does a disservice even to pure-bloods by keeping them away from reality and snug in their own little bubbles. Things need to _change_. I think Shacklebolt tried, but he won’t be allowed to get away with anything now that Thicknesse has been elected. _Thicknesse_. Who _went along_ with Voldemort.”

“He was under the Imperius then,” Harry said automatically. Which was true enough, but he didn’t care about the excuse. He’d simply lost much of his fire about it when the exhaustion started to drown him. “You’re saying that we did our job too well, and convinced you that the only way to bring about the right changes is to become a Dark Lord.”

“No one is so fanatical as a convert, isn’t that right?” Malfoy gave a rippling shrug of his shoulders. “And yes, I want you on my side.”

“Technically, I’m already there. I do believe in a lot of the same things.”

“But you aren’t fighting beside me. I did something wrong there.”

“I—” Harry swallowed and rubbed his hand across his face. “I’m tired, Malfoy. I don’t want to fight for _anybody_.”

“I think you misunderstood what I mean.” Even Malfoy’s voice had gone all warm and velvety, which Harry hadn’t anticipated. He stepped around the bed and ran his hand delicately over the side of Harry’s face. Harry stood there and breathed and let him do it. “I do not necessarily mean waging war. You could be equally valuable out of the field. Convincing and persuading people, as I mentioned before.”

“I’m not great at that.”

“Have you ever tried?”

Harry jerked out of his daze and glared at Malfoy. “Of _course_ I bloody have! I can’t tell you how much I’ve talked about the rights of Muggleborns and werewolves and house-elves and vampires and centaurs and—”

“But those were prepared speeches, right? You made them in the Ministry Atrium, or at parties, or to reporters.”

“Yes! What’s your point? You want me to speak _spontaneously_? There would probably be a lot more swearing than you’re comfortable with.”

Malfoy began to laugh, a low sound that coiled around parts of Harry’s body Harry hadn’t paid attention to in years and pulled on them. “I mean that you were either trying to make speeches to people who had no reason to believe the Ministry would back you up, or who knew that it wouldn’t. _I_ have the power to throw behind you.”

Harry paused. Yes, that would make a difference.

 _Damn._ Feeling genuinely tempted to join Malfoy’s side was _not_ supposed to happen.

On the other hand, that temptation would probably make him a better actor. So Harry nodded and said, “You’ve given me a lot to think about, Malfoy. But we’ll talk again in the morning, right?” And he didn’t have to feign his yawn.

“Of course.” Malfoy’s voice was soft and he made no effort to move. “Unless you don’t want to spend the rest of the night alone.”

Harry stared at him in utter shock.

“There would be no strings on this,” Malfoy said quietly. “You’re not making a promise to join me by accepting my presence in your bed. I’m making no promises to you. I only think that you’re highly attractive, and someone whose presence I’ve desired for years. I didn’t think the desire would turn physical, but seeing you close at hand…”

Harry’s breathing quickened in spite of himself. Malfoy’s face hadn’t changed that much from school, no, but his _personality_ had. What he’d done was remarkable. He was willing to spit in the face of traditions that Harry didn’t think he would ever have ignored.

And the two years since Harry’s last relationship had broken up under the pressure of the press and arguments over politics had been cold and lonely.

_We at least aren’t going to have arguments over politics. And I doubt he gives a fuck about the press._

“Harry?”

Harry answered with a single word instead of a touch. “Draco.”

Malfoy’s smile was like the blaze of a comet’s trail across the sky. He was the one who leaned in to kiss Harry, but Harry was the one who dropped the sheet and seized his face.

Draco was like surging, shifting water around Harry, smooth muscles and shining skin as he undressed, constant motion as he kissed Harry on his shoulder and collarbone where he had touched before and then all down his chest where he hadn’t, weightless as he bore him back to the bed. Harry stretched out and smiled up at him.

For a second, prophecy and fate and inevitability pressed against his body, but he shrugged that off. For the moment, they were here.

Draco lay down on top of him, angling himself carefully. Harry arched his back and gasped as their erections brushed together. He reached down to take them both in hand, but Draco’s hand was there already.

“Let me do it this time,” he whispered. “So beautiful.”

Harry concentrated on kissing him within an inch of his life as Draco stroked him and let his fingers brush against Harry’s stomach and balls. For some reason, Harry had imagined that he would be heavy-handed, but he was as light as before, with his hands shaking a little. He gasped out, just before he came, “Didn’t—ever get to think—I’d touch you—”

Harry arched up and ground against him, and he liked to think it was his hips more than Draco’s own hand that brought Draco off. Draco shivered, staring at Harry, his mouth hot above his, his body still shining, and spent all over Harry’s cock.

Harry followed at once, with a shudder that turned from pleasure into calmness so fast it was almost unreal. He tilted his head to the side and whispered Draco’s name. Draco kissed him fiercely in response.

Then Draco rolled to the side and drew the sheet over both of them. Harry cracked an eye to ask, “Won’t your servants worry about you when they don’t find you in your own bed?”

He dropped off before he could hear the real answer. Surely the, “They’ll know I’m exactly where I want to be,” wasn’t real.

*

“Good morning.”

Harry didn’t think he’d blushed much last night, but he blushed at seeing Draco sitting up next to him in bed with a silver breakfast tray across his knees. Harry coughed and tried not to imagine the eyeful that the servants must have got when they came in. “Um, good morning.”

“You’re shy. It’s adorable.”

Harry flushed harder and reached for the toast spread with warm butter on the edge of the tray. Draco ended up handing him a plate that he also piled with slices of banana and a small cup of yogurt. He shrugged when Harry scowled at him. “You’re almost as skinny as you were in school.”

The reference to the past sobered Harry, although Draco kept talking lightly about everything from the magic he’d used to move Malfoy Manor to how mental some of the owls he got were. He was thinking.

“ _Harry Potter will cause the new Dark Lord to fall._ ”

The prophecy was uncompromising.

“What’s wrong?”

Harry looked up and sighed. Draco was bending towards Harry and his face was bright and fascinated. And Harry wanted to tell him that there was no way he was going to join his side and walk away before he did damage to that side.

But there was still his mission. And apparently he was going to cause damage to Draco’s side no matter what, if the prophecy was true the way Robards had interpreted it. It had to be. How could a prophecy that short be ambiguous?

“Why do you call yourself a Dark Lord, Draco? If you’ve done all this good, for good reasons, then why claim that kind of title?”

Draco pulled back a little and continued eating. Harry ate what Draco had picked out for him, but nothing else, and ignored the tray that got nudged towards him, instead watching Draco and waiting for an answer.

“It’s not fair to expect you to join me if you still have questions,” Draco murmured finally, but his voice sounded grey now. “Get dressed and come with me. I’ll show you.”

*

Harry shivered as he stepped into yet another room, this one down several corridors from where he’d spent the night, that was made of that pale wood and marble. This time, though, light struck specks from what appeared to be quartz in the walls, and Harry had to cover his eyes. It was dazzling, and hard to get used to.

There was a chair in the middle of the room that had chains on its arms clasping the wrists of a slumped-over wizard. Harry was sure it had been deliberately designed after the chair in the Wizengamot courtroom it reminded him of. He didn’t recognize the wizard, though, who was slender and only a little taller than Harry himself, and had dark blond hair.

Draco’s wand slashed down. The man awoke with a scream.

“Ready for another session?” Draco asked softly. His voice had become as cold as the room was bright.

“I’ve told you everything I can.” The man’s voice was thick and hoarse with sobs and screaming. “Every single detail of the patrols, every single detail of the Dementors. Please let me go.”

“No,” Draco said quietly. “Because your memories hold the kinds of details that I need and you wouldn’t _think_ to give me. But it ought to be soon now. And at least you won’t suffer in the kind of prison you guarded.” He arranged his feet as if he was standing in the center of a rune, although when Harry glanced down, he couldn’t see anything like that on the dazzling floor. “ _Legilimens_!”

Harry winced in remembered pain as Draco crashed into the man’s mind. The man screamed for a few seconds and then slumped over again. Harry watched in silence. He’d asked for this. The least he could do was bear witness.

Perhaps ten minutes later, Draco stepped back and blinked. “That was useful,” he murmured. “Only one more session, Mortimer, and that _will_ be the end.” He turned around and walked out of the room. Harry followed, glancing over his shoulder. Mortimer was sobbing a little, but otherwise, the only sign that he was alive was the frantic rise and fall of his chest.

“He was an Azkaban guard?” Harry asked softly.

Draco nodded, not looking back at him. “And his memories of the prison give me more context for cracking it and getting rid of it than simply interviewing him under Veritaserum does.”

“Why do you want to destroy Azkaban?”

“Can you _ask_ that question, Potter?” Draco whirled around and stalked towards him. “When my father died there? When it’s used to senselessly torment people who committed only minor crimes? When _your own godfather_ , my _cousin_ , suffered from the attentions of the Dementors for years?”

Harry licked his lips and didn’t retreat. He had never thought of getting rid of Azkaban, himself. He’d been upset when the Ministry allowed the Dementors back, but by then, every single emotion was dusty and worn. “What would you replace it with?”

“A prison that would use the Draught of Living Death,” Draco said, with a slight shrug. “Put prisoners to sleep for a length of time equal to that they would have got with the Dementors. They won’t suffer as much, guaranteed, but they’ll be rendered harmless and taken utterly away from the world for months or years at a time, which is its own kind of punishment.”

Harry thought about it. His thoughts seemed to be moving sluggishly. “All right. What other things have you done to earn the title of Dark Lord?”

Draco blinked a bit. Then he said, “Come with me.”

*

“No. Not like _that_.”

Harry winced as he heard the hiss from Draco. He knew Draco couldn’t speak Parseltongue, but that was right on the edge of it.

Draco stalked towards the girl in the back of the classroom, who sat with her eyes on the floor and a vivid blush on her face. From her silvery hair, Harry thought she might be part-Veela, and Draco’s words confirmed it. “What did I tell you, Marie-Angelique? You have to _shield_ your mind, not cower from my eyes! Now, _again. Legilimens!_ ”

The Legilimency resistance seemed to last a little longer this time before the girl sobbed and looked away. Draco nodded and stepped back. “Now keep practicing that until you feel you can _actually_ stare into someone else’s eyes and hide your secrets.”

Marie-Angelique nodded in turned and apparently went back to it, although since “it” was meditating with closed eyes, Harry wasn’t sure how effective that was. He looked around the classroom, seeing children even younger flinching from Draco’s eyes or each other’s, or smiling because they’d managed to keep something hidden.

“What else do you teach them besides Occlumency and Legilimency?” Harry asked, when Draco headed back towards the front of the grey-walled classroom.

“Resisting the Imperius Curse. Casting the Patronus Charm to get rid of Dementors. Counters for the more common curses that the Ministry uses, and dueling outside the formal restrictions that most teachers put on it. Illegal spells.”

Harry paused. Then he asked, “Why?”

“So they can protect themselves against the Ministry, and against anyone who might _forget_ that the Ministry supposedly stands against illegal spells.” Draco paused, his fingers running through his hair until it stood up like small wings. “Did you know that the Ministry actually never rescinded the permission for Aurors to use Unforgivable Curses that they passed during the first war with Voldemort?”

Harry stared at him. “That _can’t_ be true. I would have heard of it.”

“So you heard they did?”

“No! I mean, I just—no one ever said anything about it one way or the other. But I never knew anyone who used them.”

Draco’s face broke into a strained smile. “I think they were very careful to keep their more unsavory activities away from you, Harry. You’re a truth-teller, and although you never managed to use the power of your name, you might have if you saw one of your fellow Aurors cast a Killing Curse in front of you.”

Harry said nothing. Instead, he tried to remember if he’d ever heard about someone _canceling_ the permission. It was true he hadn’t, but—that had been the first war with Voldemort. In the ten years since the second one, it had never been changed?

_How slowly does the Ministry change?_

Harry yanked himself away from things he didn’t want to think about and asked, “Why are some people who look like they might be from France or other countries here?”

“Because their Ministries have similar laws or are moving in similar directions to the British one,” Draco said quietly. “It hasn’t happened to the Veela in France yet, because they’re powerful there, but they foresee a time when they _might_ be forbidden to attend Beauxbatons or intermarry with humans. They’re preparing.”

“But they don’t have someone in France who can teach them?”

“When I’m done with my students, they will. But right now, I’m the only one doing it.”

“ _Why_?”

“Because the methods to teach Occlumency and Legilimency and resisting the Imperius Curse and some of these others are inherently painful,” Draco said softly, his eyes boring into Harry’s. “Even teaching them the Patronus Charm can be seen that way. I either expose them to a Dementor or a Boggart in the form of a Dementor. These methods are illegal in most countries, Harry. I, on the other hand, don’t care about the pain they suffer as long as they master the skills and survive.”

Harry sat there, shuddering as if with cold, but he didn’t know if that was the right name for the emotion inside him.

Draco leaned towards him and added, “Dark Lord. I save my people. I serve my cause. I care about the end. I don’t care about the means.”

*

_And that’s what it means to be a Dark Lord._

Harry sat on the high battlements of one of the towers the new Malfoy Manor had taken on, staring out over the thick forest that surrounded Draco’s domain. As always, it was shining under the sunlight, the trees’ leaves shifting and dancing. Now and then, a wolf ran along the edge, or a skimming, darting figure that Harry was sure was a vampire, able to move about as they wished in the shadows of the immense woods.

_That’s the thing Draco has in common with Voldemort. He wants to achieve his goals. He doesn’t care about the legalities or who he hurts, if they learn something. He’s better than Voldemort because he’s inflicting pain on the willing._

_But I’d wager the first Death Eaters were willing, too._

Harry shivered. So this was what he had to stop—something that might grow unchecked, something that aligned with goals he believed in, but wasn’t necessarily less evil because of that. Something without moderation. Something that would change laws by force, not persuasion, even if Draco also hoped that Harry’s presence might allow him to avoid a protracted war.

 _Something I_ have _to stand against. Damn prophecy._

Harry raked his fingers through his hair again and again. Damn it, he did not know what to do. He didn’t want another war. He didn’t want to fight. He didn’t want his friends to risk their lives, even though they weren’t as close as they had once been—and that was Harry’s fault. His exhaustion had put up barriers between them. If he didn’t want to listen to their conversation about politics or the Ministry or fighting, if he didn’t want to go anywhere because someone would pounce on him, if he didn’t want to cook or visit them because even that felt like too much effort, it was natural for them to drift away.

But now—

Now life raced like lightning through Harry.

But that didn’t tell him what to do.

Harry looked up at the cloudless, enchanted sky, and made his decision. He would tell Draco the truth. And if Draco tried to kill him, or imprison him, or _Obliviate_ him, he would tear free.

But in the meantime, he did feel that he owed Draco this honesty. Draco had shown him what being a Dark Lord meant. Harry would show him what being an exhausted Auror did.

*

“And that’s why the Ministry sent you,” Draco said softly, leaning back in his throne as he looked at Harry. He rarely used the throne room, Harry had come to understand, but Harry had told him they should for this conversation, that it felt appropriate. “Because they thought you could fulfill this prophecy.”

“Yeah.” Harry stared at his hands.

“Harry. What do _you_ want?” Draco leaned across the throne’s arm and touched his hand.

Harry lifted his eyes and tried to answer honestly, without the exhaustion or the fear getting in the way. “To promote your goals, but without the war I think is going to happen. To stay with you, but not have to fail my friends and everyone I love.”

Draco nodded. His hand remained in place. “You can have that.”

Harry felt for a second as if he was standing in the middle of a cold wave. He recognized it at last. It was longing. He hadn’t felt that emotion for long enough that he trembled. It was impossible to _want_ underneath the exhaustion. “But the prophecy—”

“Shall I tell you how _I_ interpret it?”

“Please.”

“ _Harry Potter will cause the new Dark Lord to fall._ ” Draco quoted the prophecy and then shrugged. “That doesn’t say that you will _defeat_ me. Or vanquish me, the way the first prophecy you were a victim to said. It says _fall_. If it means to fall in love…” He trailed off, and then raised Harry’s hand to his lips and kissed his knuckles without looking away from his face.

Harry felt his arms break out in gooseflesh. “That can’t be right.”

“Why not?”

“It—it gives me too much of what I want,” Harry said, stung into honesty. “Things never work out that well for me.”

Draco closed his eyes for a moment. Then he said, “If you knew how much I want to burn the Ministry when you say things like that, you would be flattered. I hope.” He stood up from his throne without releasing Harry’s hand and leaned close to him.

“Do you disagree with my goals?”

“No.”

“My methods?”

Harry breathed deep and thought about what it would mean for werewolves to be able to shift whenever they wanted, maybe even his own godson if he ended up inheriting Remus’s affliction. “Some of them.”

“Then stay with me and help me change them. Voldemort had no one at his side, not really. He terrified them all away long ago. I know nothing I can do would terrify you, Harry Potter.”

Harry shivered and opened his eyes slowly. He could hardly believe that freedom might be in sight. Freedom from prophecies and the Ministry’s requests and the boring sameness of speeches that changed no one’s mind and arrests that always ended in freedom or time spent in a prison he should have seen was evil before Draco told him so.

“If you stay with me,” Draco said softly, “you will have what you want.”

“I don’t know if all of that is possible.”

“Perhaps not. But I am willing to fight to make sure you can.”

Harry stared at him, and then held out his other hand. Draco took it, shivering himself. Harry could see the desire and the pain in his eyes, and shook his head. Strange as it seemed, _he_ was what Draco wanted.

“How long have you been hoping that I’d walk through the door and stand at your side?” Harry asked, thinking again about how Draco’s servants had escorted him to their Lord right away, without making him wait.

“Since the minute I named myself a Dark Lord,” Draco admitted, and kissed him, hard.

*

Harry gave a shiver that had nothing to do with the cold as he stepped out onto the balcony beside Draco. It overlooked the courtyard where, most of the time, it seemed werewolves learning to shift into wolves played. But now rows of people stood, including some vampires—it was a half-moon, starry night—and looked up attentively.

Draco’s arm slid around his waist. Harry looked sidelong on at him. Draco nodded. “You can do this.”

Harry cleared his throat. “I’ve decided to join the Dark Lord.”

A mixture of rasping cheers, howls, and applause echoed from below. Harry blinked. “I didn’t think they would be that enthusiastic to have me,” he muttered. “Not like you.”

“Why not?” Draco’s arm clasped him harder. “They know that Harry Potter can do anything, triumph over any obstacle. With you at my side, we put heart into our friends as well as fear into our enemies and conviction into the wavering.”

“And you?” Harry asked, his voice low, his body filled with desire in a way he had nearly forgotten. “Do _you_ think I can triumph over any obstacle?”

“I realized it long ago,” Draco said, and kissed him again, while below them, the forces of what was apparently _their_ Dark army sent their cries echoing up again into the night.

**The End.**


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